


how do i love thee? (let me count the ways)

by ADreamingSongbird



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 01:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13224912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamingSongbird/pseuds/ADreamingSongbird
Summary: If pressed, Viktor doesn't know that he'd ever be able to pick a favorite thing about his fiancé.  But he certainly can try.





	how do i love thee? (let me count the ways)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agenderemrys (brightbluecitylights)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightbluecitylights/gifts).



> HAP HOLIDAYS AND HAP NEW YEAR JESS UR SUCH A GOOD BEAN
> 
> below is an attempt at writing in a more concise style, aka "rimi tries to shut up for once (1) in her life". i hope it came out well <3

Yuuri Katsuki is many things.

“You,” Viktor chuckles, “are _something.”_   His voice is warm, but his smile is warmer as he inspects his fiancé’s hands, running his thumbs over thankfully unbruised knuckles.  “You didn’t have to punch him.”

Yuuri shrugs lightly, unperturbed.  Most of the alcohol in his system seems burned through; his eyes are dark and serious as he looks at Viktor, the alternating light and dark of the streetlamps flooding over them as the cab takes them home.  “He didn’t let go of your arm when you told him to.”

Viktor shrugs back, tugging him a little closer so he can plant a kiss on one of those perfect cheeks.  “He was very drunk, we were at a bar late at night, the music was loud.  Still, thank you.  My hero!”

Yuuri flushes at that, the heat on his skin drawing Viktor closer still like a moth enthralled by a flame.  He smiles as his lips brush Yuuri’s jaw, though—he would gladly let himself be consumed by that flame, but Yuuri’s heart would never burn him.  Instead, it keeps him warm, warmer than he’s ever been.  His Yuuri is noble, and loving, and kind.  With him, Viktor is safe.

The smile doesn’t leave his face for the rest of the night—not in the cab, not in the elevator as they hold hands and giggle in the bright fluorescent lights, not until they’re curled up together, fast asleep in their bed as the stars roll by.

The next morning, Yuuri rolls over with a low groan and smushes a pillow over his face.  “Did I seriously punch a man last night?”

Viktor laughs.  “You’re my _savior,”_ he teases, flopping backwards on top of him with a hand pressed to his forehead.  “Oh, _Yuuri,_ take me now!”

“I hate this,” Yuuri announces to no one in particular, even as his arm wraps around Viktor’s chest.  “Drink more next time, you ridiculous Russian, that way you won’t remember the stupid things I do when I’m drunk.”

“If it’s any comfort, you didn’t punch him very hard,” Viktor offers.  He reaches up and peels the pillow away.  Yuuri lets him, and it comes away to reveal a breathtakingly gorgeous sight—sleepy brown eyes, mussed hair, dark and silky, and best of all, a smile meant just for him.  Viktor’s heart stutters.  How is anyone so stunning just after waking up?

“Mm,” Yuuri sighs.  Viktor’s hand moves on its own, finding its way to his cheek, and Yuuri places his hand on top of it, pressing it to his face with a little contented hum.  “I don’t actually regret it.  He was making you uncomfortable, and—”

Viktor strokes his thumb over Yuuri’s lower lip, soft and slightly chapped as usual, and Yuuri stops talking abruptly, his breath catching in his throat.  Viktor smiles.

“You’re… so beautiful.”

Earnest or not, the praise earns him a snort, as usual.  Yuuri never quite believes him.  “Go look in the mirror and then come talk to me.”

“I’d rather not,” Viktor says, and stays exactly where he is.  It’s a good place to be.

Yuuri is many things. 

He’s beautiful, he’s passionate, he’s _exuberant._ Viktor watches him from the side of the rink, unable to keep a smile from his face as Yuuri laughs, flying across the ice.  Mila reaches for his hands, twirls him about, and the two of them improvise a salsa until Yuri yells that they’re in his way and breaks them apart. 

There are few things Viktor loves more than watching Yuuri dance, whether on ice or solid ground.  He’s magnificent.

They’re winding down at the end of the day, Yakov getting in the last of his lecture to Georgi on the other end of the rink, and Yuuri twirls away from Mila and Yuri, runs through a bit of the Eros choreography, his hands tracing the curves of his body _just so,_ in a way that will never cease to ruin Viktor, no matter how familiar it might be.  He tosses his head and fires a saucy wink at Viktor, holding out his arms.

“Hey, Coach!”

Viktor winks back.  If he’s blushing, he can always blame it on the cold.  “Yes, oh beautiful sunshine of my heart?”

Yuuri laughs at him.  He can blame it on chilly air all he wants, but Yuuri knows the truth.  “Come dance with me!”

It’s that simple.  Viktor abandons the rink wall and skates forward, arms wrapping around Yuuri’s waist as he approaches and sends both of them gliding backwards.  Yuuri hugs him back but laughs into his shoulder.

“This isn’t dancing, silly!”

“Well, if you don’t want to get hugged, you should stop being so huggable,” Viktor retorts, letting go.  He’s about to hold out his arms in an invitation like they’re in a grand, dazzling ballroom, dressed in the suits of elegant princes instead of sweaty athletes’ workout clothes, but Yuuri’s hands settle on his waist and tug him back in.

“I want to pick you up,” Yuuri informs him, sending delight singing through Viktor’s veins.  He holds himself accordingly, keeping a steady line in his body from head to toes, and is so busy looking down at his fiancé with utter adoration that he’s too late to hold back a genuine giggle when Yuuri sweeps him into the air.

Yuuri laughs at him again, holding him up for a solid few seconds before bringing him back down to the ice.  Viktor hugs him again excitedly, because his Yuuri is strong and amazing and makes him so incredibly happy.

He’s strong.  So, so strong.

(And Viktor doesn’t just mean his biceps or his thighs, though both of those things are incredible.)

But Yuuri Katsuki is many things, and foremost among those, he is a fighter.

Viktor looks at him, wrapped in a blanket and one of Viktor’s own sweaters, with Makkachin across his lap and mug of steaming tea in his hands, and feels his heart swell with love.  Yuuri is sad today.  Yuuri is nervous today.  Yuuri’s mind has turned in on itself today, trying to tear him apart from the inside out.

And just like every other day of his life, Yuuri is still fighting. 

“You just never give up,” he marvels softly, settling down at Yuuri’s side.  Yuuri gives him a flat look.

“I could hardly even skate today.”  The disbelief in his voice is scathing and clear.  Viktor caresses his cheek before withdrawing, hard as that is, because he knows by now—when Yuuri wants comfort, he will come to him.  “That’s pretty close to giving up.”

But Viktor just shakes his head.  “No.  You wanted to keep trying.  I was the one who told you we’re taking a rest day.”

Yuuri snorts.  Makkachin nudges his stomach.  “Yeah.  Because I couldn’t land jumps worth shit.”

“No,” Viktor corrects.  “Because I want to take care of you.  Will you let me?”

 A heartbeat of silence passes.  Two.

When Yuuri slumps sideways, not even bracing himself in the event of a fall, Viktor is there to catch him (he always will be, this is his pledge, now and forevermore), pulling him close, kissing his hair.  Makkachin huffs at being disturbed but wriggles closer, snuggling against Yuuri’s other side, and Viktor smiles at her over Yuuri’s head.  She, too, loves Yuuri very much.

“Sorry for being so weak.”  Yuuri’s voice is painfully small.  Viktor lays his cheek against his hair and holds him a little tighter.

“You’re not,” he murmurs back.  “You’re anything but weak, darling.”

“I feel like,” and there’s a pause, a tiny sniffle, and a frustrated sigh.  “I feel like I’ve somehow fooled you into thinking that.  It’s not true, but somehow I lied and made you think it is.”

Viktor snorts.  “Please.  Give me a little more credit than that, sweetheart.”

Another pause.  “Sorry.”

“No, that’s—Yuuri, my starlight, I don’t want you to feel bad for thinking that, and I don’t want you to apologize to me.”  Viktor rakes a hand through his hair before wrapping it back around Yuuri, who lets out a soft breath and sinks against him.  “I meant I know.  I know you, and Yurio knows you, and your family know you, and we all know you are strong.  The only one fooling or lying to anyone is your anxiety lying to _you._ That’s what I mean.”

Yuuri snuggles a little closer against his chest, curling up into something small and vulnerable.  Viktor kisses his hair, holds him tight, and promises, again, to always protect him.  Always, always, always.

“That seems too good to be true,” Yuuri finally mumbles.  “Sorry.  I—I should believe you.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Viktor tells him.  “Take your time.  We’ll work on it.”

Yuuri is many, many things, and if pressed to pick his favorite, or his favorite three, or five, or ten—

“Makkachin,” Viktor says mournfully, letting his head _thump_ onto the notebook in front of him.  It’s oddly quiet at home now, while Yuuri is out shopping with Mila.  “Writing vows that will stay under five pages is _hard._ ”

Makkachin thumps her tail against the desk and sneezes.  Viktor loves her, but he has to admit she isn’t very helpful.

(Until she eats the third page, at least.)

(Yuuri comes home to find him sitting on the floor trying to tug a drool-ruined notebook out of her mouth, complaining in loud Russian the whole while, and laughs so hard he hits his head on a doorknob.)

Yuuri is so many things.  He’s beautiful, he’s strong, he’s brilliant, he’s sweet, he’s funny, oh, god, _so many things._   Viktor will never be over any of them.  But one of his favorite things about Yuuri is how gentle he can be.

His fingers card soothingly through Viktor’s hair, stroking it back from his forehead and behind his ear even though it’s too silky to stay, falling forward again immediately.  It’s a useless action, and yet here Yuuri is, doing it again and again and again.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, and Viktor closes his eyes, curling up a little tighter.  He lies on their bed, his head pillowed on Yuuri’s chest, and clutches desperately at his fiancé, trying to shut out the loud, oppressive silence in his mind.  “It’s okay, Vitya.  I’m here.  I’ve got you.”

Viktor’s fingers curl a little further into Yuuri’s shirt.  His voice, when he finds it, is small.  “Are you sure?”

Yuuri kisses the top of his head, slow and lingering, so that Viktor is sure he’ll feel the ghost of his lips for hours to come.  “Positive.”

Still, he hesitates, licks his lips nervously, and presses a little closer, craving comfort and contact.  Yuuri squeezes him tight. “Are you going to leave?”

“I would never dream of it.”  Yuuri kisses his head again and pulls the blanket a little higher, shutting out the outside world in its harsh brightness, cruel and overwhelming and grey.  It’s just them, the two of them in this little soft and warm bubble.  Yuuri is here.  It’s okay.  Yuuri has him.

Viktor takes a shaky breath and presses a grateful kiss to his fiancé’s chest, just above his heart.  “You’re sure?”

“The only place I might go is the bathroom, after all the tea we just had,” Yuuri admits a little ruefully, and it’s so incredibly honest and mundane that Viktor finds himself laughing for the first time today.

Yuuri is many things, all of which Viktor admires and loves him for.  He is sunshine incarnate, swinging their joined hands as they walk Makkachin together in the park, a spring in his step and warm mirth in his eyes.  He is a storm of passion, pinning Viktor down with kiss after deep kiss, full of whispered declarations of love and little gasps of breath.  He is a work of art in every motion, dancing across the ice like a wisp of pure magic.

He is adorably normal, fitting into the cracks of Viktor’s life in the most soothing of ways, stealing his clothes and grumpily pouting at the alarms every morning.  He is a breath of fresh air, the familiarity of coming home, and a new surprise, a new adventure, all rolled into one.

“There are so many ways to describe you,” Viktor murmurs to his _husband,_ crooning into his ear as they open the dance floor at their wedding, “but I think I have a favorite one.”

Yuuri breathes a soft sigh into his neck, his eyes closed and his lips curved into the sweetest smile Viktor has ever seen.  His arms are tight about his waist, holding him close.  Viktor adores him so much he’s a little breathless.  “Yeah?”

“Mmm,” Viktor nods. 

He turns his head just enough to press his lips to Yuuri’s temple, floating on the surge of giddy contentment that flutters through him when he feels Yuuri’s answering chuckle in his chest. 

_“Beloved.”_


End file.
